Part 7

Several days later the sun came out bright and warm, and Ben declared it a splendid day to fish through the ice. He promised the boys great sport, should the fish happen to be hungry. He went to a near-by spring and dipped some minnows from a supply stored there. Then he took ten or twelve pieces of lath from a shelf. Each piece was about three feet long, and had a small, round hole bored through its center, near one end. Fastened to this end was a heavy braided fish-line, from the end of which dangled a businesslike-looking hook. Provided with these, the pail of minnows, and two axes, Ben led the way over the lake to a sheltered cove. There he halted at some distance from the shore, for he explained that with the coming of cold weather the fish retired to deeper water.

While he chopped the first hole the guide set the boys at work cutting a number of sticks, about three feet long, small enough to fit loosely through the holes in the pieces of lath. By the time they had cut enough Ben had chopped several holes. The lads were anxious to help, and he surrendered the ax and told them to begin.

They began by chipping small pieces of ice, haphazard, from the center of a tiny circle. The guide instantly stopped them and declared such work would not do. He showed how to cut a circular groove through the ice, keeping all sides of the circle at an even depth until they were on the point of reaching the water; then a clean-cut disk of ice floated free and was pushed back out of the way.

“There’s a knack in everything, boys,” laughed Ben, straightening after he had cut the twelfth and last hole.

They unwound the fish-lines, placed a minnow on each hook, and dropped it into the water. At the same time Ben pushed a stick through the lath and placed it across the opening. Each end of the stick rested on the ice. The lath had its longer half resting on the ice, and its shorter end, from which dangled the line and hook, directly over the water.

Ben explained that when a fish jerked on the line it would pull the short end of the lath down and cause the other end to rise and give warning of a strike. He said such an arrangement was known as a “tip-up.” When the last hole had been baited and set, the anglers went ashore to wait. When one of the “tip-ups” bobbed into the air they were all to rush for it. The one who got there first and jerked out the fish would win that “heat.”

Suddenly Ben shouted, “There goes number three!” and off he started, with the boys in hot pursuit.

It was no easy matter to keep their feet while dashing at full speed over the glassy surface of the lake. Ed fell flat and slid along with his arms and legs outspread. By the time George reached the hole he was going so fast that he could not stop, and he slid past, vainly endeavoring to turn without falling. When Ed and George had recovered themselves, Ben had reached the opening and tossed a splendid pickerel on the ice.

“You fellows looked like spiders trying to run over a window-pane,” he laughed, as the boys came up puffing.

“Just wait until the next one!” George panted.

“There she goes!” cried Ed; and he made a wild dash for another hole.

George and Ben were right behind him, yelling at the top of their voices. When near the opening Ed thought the best way to stop would be to sit down and slide the remainder of the distance. He did so, but was unaware that his comrades were close behind him; and he was somewhat surprised when Ben went sailing over his head and George landed astride his back. There was a grand mix-up of arms and legs, as all of them tried to scramble to the hole. Finally Ed managed to crawl to the opening, where he jerked another pickerel from the water.

When they rose to their feet, they saw three “tip-ups” on end, and this time each ran to a different one. Much to the delight of the boys, Ben slipped, and to save himself from plunging into the hole jumped over it at top speed. His feet hit the ice on the other side and instantly shot out from under him, and he slid along on his back, while his young companions whooped.

“Another spider!” cried Ed.

Ben laughed good-naturedly, and, spying another “tip-up” raised, started for it at break-neck speed. Away went the boys at the same instant. In vain they tried to head him off from the side. Again a desperate mix-up ensued, and this time it was George who first got hold of the line. He gave a violent tug. Then the others laughed boisterously, for nothing but the bare hook shot into the air.

After a while it began to cloud over and grow cold and raw. Ben looked at the sky and prophesied snow before dark. They spent the remainder of the morning on the ice; but with the disappearance of the sun and the coming of the cold wind, the fish ceased biting. They caught only one or two more before they took up the “tip-ups” at noon and returned to the cabin.

During the afternoon it continued to grow colder. Several times little flurries of snow passed, swirling out across the lake. Ben busied himself in overhauling several pairs of snowshoes, which he said they might soon have need of.

All at once a most unearthly noise sounded from the opposite side of the lake. Ben dropped the snowshoe he was fixing, and listened. It was a combination of howls, whines, yelps, and barks mingled in one great bedlam of sound that greeted their ears.

The guide rushed from the cabin with his rifle, and ran for the shore, the boys close behind him. Whatever made the noise was evidently headed for the lake, with the intention of crossing on the ice.

“They’ve turned!” said Ben, disgustedly.

“What is it?” inquired Ed.

“Wild dogs,” said Ben. “They’re running a deer--bad luck to them! If the deer had only come out on the ice, as it intended, I’d have dropped a few of the rascals before they got out of range.”

“Wild dogs?” repeated the lads, incredulously.

“Yes, there’s been a pack of them down in the country around Big Otter Pond for several years. Now that they’ve driven most of the game out of there, they’ve moved up into this country. We’ll make it too all-fired hot for them! Wait till Bill hears of it, then you’ll smell gunpowder,” Ben declared, angrily.

The babel from the outlaw pack grew gradually fainter, till at last it ceased, for they had chased their doomed victim out of ear-shot.

“Will they get the deer?” George asked.

“Yes, they’ll get it, all right,” replied Ben. “Nothing escapes them when once they’re hot on the trail. They’re as savage as wolves, and a lot more cunning. That’s why nobody can kill them off.”

When they reached the cabin the guide began the story of the four-footed renegades.

“Some few years ago there was an old half-breed trapper who came down into this country from somewhere up in Canada. With him he brought three dogs which he used on bear. Two of them were great long-eared hounds--mostly bloodhound stock, I guess, savage as lions. The other was a three-quarter Eskimo dog which looked for all the world like a big gray timber-wolf.

“Jean Beaupoy--that was the name of the old trapper--kept the dogs tied to stout posts near his cabin. He could do anything he pleased with them, but no one else dared go near where they were. I’ve heard men who chanced to pass say that the dogs would growl and bark long before any one could get near the place. Then old Jean would run out, rifle in hand, and ask who was coming and what they wanted. We sort of got suspicious of the old fellow, and thought maybe he’d run away from the law, and had brought the three half-wild dogs to give him warning and protection.

“Well, one day early in the spring the queer old man was drowned. He had tried to come down through ‘Crazy Man Riffs’ in his canoe. We found the canoe turned bottom side up in the pool at the end of the rapids, but we never found old Jean.

“First we thought his dogs had been drowned with him, ’cause we knew he had them along. But several weeks later a trapper saw them chase a buck deer into a pond. He called them; but at the sound of his voice they snarled like wolves and bounded away before he thought of shooting.

“A year or so after this, reports began to come in about them from all around the county. They’d gathered up other stray dogs by that time and made them cunning, blood-thirsty outlaws like themselves. The big, half-wolf Eskimo dog appeared to be their leader, and some used to say he had found two or three timber-wolves and got them to join his band. But there aren’t any wolves in Maine.

“Finally people began to hunt them; and when they failed to get near enough to shoot, they set poison traps. In that way they managed to kill one or two, and then the pack refused to touch any more of the poisoned bait.

“One winter the trappers organized a hunt to run them down on snowshoes. Although the best men in the county took part, they only succeeded in killing two out of the pack, which by that time had increased considerably.

“Each year they grew bolder and killed more game, till the county offered a reward for killing them, and men went to work to hunt them. But it was no use.

“Perhaps somebody kills one, or maybe two, now and then, but they have increased till there are probably twenty or thirty in the pack. They’ve chased or killed off all the game around Big Otter Pond way, and now they’ve come yelping and raving up here like a pack of devils.”

“Do they ever attack people?” asked Ed, when the unusual story was finished.

Ben resumed work on the snowshoes, and did not reply.

Ed repeated his query, and the guide was forced into an answer.

“Oh, they’re not dangerous,” he laughed, evading the direct question, and the boys knew he was not so sure of it.

They spent the balance of the day skating on the lake. Toward evening they thought they heard the wild pack again, and they felt that the cabin was the place for them.

Just as they were turning in for the night it began to snow. It came down in little round, stinging pellets, and Ben said this was the sign of a big storm.

Later, when they were warmly blanketed in the bunk, Ed turned to George and said: “I believe we shall be mixed up with that band of wild dogs before we leave here.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” said George.

X WINTER SETTLES DOWN

When the storm ceased two days later the lads looked out on a new landscape. The glistening white mantle of winter covered the earth. The evergreens were decorated with little puffs of snow, and the cabin itself was half buried in a huge drift. Everything was white and dazzling--lake, mountains, trees, and cabin. It seemed to the boys that they had stepped into fairyland. They might have easily imagined themselves in the Arctic.

Ben brought forth two pairs of snowshoes and explained how to fasten them on. Then he donned a pair himself and tramped slowly back and forth, so the boys could see how he used his feet and legs to manipulate the awkward “webs.”

Ed and George started bravely out over the deep snow; but, unused to the queer shoes as they were, they quickly placed one foot on top of the other and went head first into the soft, powdery drifts. Ben shook with laughter as they floundered about in their efforts to rise. They soon learned to keep their feet far apart, and before long they were running over the snow like old-timers.

Later in the day they again put on the snowshoes and made their way out on the lake. Suddenly George called to Ed and pointed excitedly to a tall pine that leaned out from the shore. Looking up into the branches, Ed saw a large white bird sitting stationary on its perch.

Ed volunteered to go to the cabin for a gun, and started for the shore at full speed. In his excitement he forgot all about keeping his feet apart, and before he had gone far he overlapped the toes of his snowshoes and took a “header.” But he quickly regained his feet and continued.

The big bird in the top of the tree began to twist its head uneasily, and George was disgusted when it finally spread its wings and sailed out over the lake and back toward the woods again. He instantly gave chase, and kept it in sight until it alighted in another tree some distance farther on.

When Ed returned to the border of the lake with the gun, he was surprised to find George nowhere in sight. But he followed the snowshoe trail around a projecting point of land. There he found George hidden in the bushes. Ed told him that Ben thought the bird might be a snowy owl.

Delighted at the prospect of procuring so rare a prize, they began a stealthy advance through the woods. They found traveling in the timber far more difficult than they had imagined. The snowshoes caught under logs and in bushes continually, and their progress was slow. After much labor they finally arrived at the base of the pine.

They looked for some time before they were able to discover the owl high above them. At last George pointed it out to Ed, who had the gun. He took careful aim and pulled the trigger. With the report, down came a shower of snow that almost blinded them. Then they saw the bird come flapping awkwardly to earth, and land, as they supposed, some distance away in the soft snow.

They at once hurried to the spot, but found no trace of the owl. They hunted diligently, and Ed, in disgust, declared the bird was no doubt lying in plain sight, but could not be seen against the white background of snow. They searched carefully through a fallen tree-top, beneath bushes, and behind rocks, but all in vain.

“I wish I hadn’t shot it,” Ed said, remorsefully, as he sat down to cool himself.

“We’ll find it about here somewhere,” replied George, hopefully.

Just then another mass of loosened snow came tumbling down on Ed, as the object of their search flapped helplessly to the ground from the forks of a small evergreen. With one wing dragging, it tumbled along over the snow and made away into the woods.

“Don’t shoot!” cried George, excitedly, as Ed brought the gun to his shoulder. “We’ll get him alive,” and he bounded off in pursuit of the escaping bird.

They soon saw that it was only wounded slightly, and could make excellent speed through the tangled undergrowth. Indeed, it was only by the greatest efforts that they were able to keep it in sight. But it was leaving a broad trail, and they knew they would be able to track it to its hiding-place.

The bird finally sought refuge under a log. The boys whooped delightedly, for they knew it could not escape them. Being entirely unfamiliar with the danger from the powerful beak and talons of this bird, George stooped down and reached recklessly beneath the log. He instantly withdrew his hand and gave utterance to a howl of pain as he hopped about holding to one of his fingers, which was bleeding freely.

“What happened?” asked Ed, in surprise.

“Gee whiz, the blamed thing has teeth!” declared George. “He bit me!”

They put snow on the injured finger and bound it with a handkerchief. Then they sat down to determine how to get the strange bird without risking more fingers. The boys at last decided to poke it out with a stick; but were at a loss to know how to capture it when it came from beneath the log.

“I have it,” declared George. “When it comes out, I’ll throw my coat over it, and we can wrap it up and carry it home.”

For a long time, however, the bird refused to leave its shelter, and bit and struck at the stick with its powerful beak and great curved claws. Noticing the way it attacked the pole, Ed decided to try an experiment.

He fastened his handkerchief to the end of the stick, and pushed it before the enraged bird. Hissing angrily, the owl snapped viciously at the lure. Before it could release its hold, Ed gave a quick pull which brought the bird from beneath the log.

Once in the open, it turned over on its back and clawed at the air. The boys made many attempts to throw the coat over it, but each time it either kicked it off or scrambled from beneath.

“Fights almost as hard as a bob-cat,” laughed Ed.

“Worse,” declared George, shaking his wounded finger as proof.

The lads eventually got the savage bird wrapped in the garment, but not until Ed had received a nasty scratch from its sharp talons. Using the sleeves of the coat, they managed to tie their struggling captive securely in its folds. Slinging it from the end of a small pole, they set off for the cabin in high spirits.

When they arrived there, they made Ben close the door, and with a shout of triumph they released their prisoner in the center of the room.

“Snowy owl, sure as you’re born,” said Ben, when the bird stood before him.

At his near approach it backed away into a corner, beneath a lower bunk, and he bade them get it out to see if it was badly wounded.

“Not as badly as we are,” laughed George, as he unbound his throbbing finger.

Ed rolled up his sleeve and exhibited the long, red scratch on his arm.

“Heigh!” cried Ben. “Got you, did he?” And he ordered them to wash their wounds with hot water from the kettle.

With the aid of a fish-net he finally got the owl in his grasp, and tenderly examined its wounded wing.

“Just one little shot-pellet tipped him on the joint there,” he said. “He’ll be as good as ever in a few days.”

“May we keep him?” pleaded the lads.

“Yes, I guess so; but you’ll have to be careful or some one may get hurt.”

They promised to build a cage, and said they would tame and make a pet of their captive. They asked Ben what to feed it, and were much relieved when told it would eat anything in the way of meat.

“He’s a rascal, anyway, and a little term in prison won’t hurt him,” laughed the guide.

Then he told them that this species of owl murders and eats great numbers of rabbits, grouse, and smaller birds and animals. He declared that by jailing the individual in their possession they would no doubt save the lives of many little forest folks in the vicinity.

That afternoon, aided by Ben, they built a large rustic crate, or cage, with a log perch extending from end to end. They managed to get the owl inside, and when they had supplied him with some deer meat they pushed the crate against the wall and left the surly prisoner to his meditations.

Ben said they would undoubtedly see many strange tracks recorded in the snow on the following day. He explained how the various animals had remained close in their shelter during the fury of the storm; but, now it was over, they would venture forth in search of food.

After supper Ed and George dragged the crate into the center of the room. They sat down before it to study the fascinating white bird, which sat stolidly on its perch and gazed at them with its great, yellow eyes. They were amused and surprised to learn that it could turn its head almost in a complete circle without moving its body. After watching it do this for some time, Ed declared it must surely twist its own neck if it continued.

They learned from their books and from Ben that the snowy owl was an inhabitant of the far-off Arctic regions, and that it came down into this country in the winter, when it was driven south by snow, cold, and lack of food. Ben told them how it sailed through the forest and pounced upon a sleeping grouse or luckless rabbit before they were aware of its presence.

Later in the evening the moon came up big and bright and flooded the snow-covered country with its light. The boys asked Ben if they might take some meat down to the edge of the lake for a bait to entice whatever wild creatures might be abroad. They explained that they wished to hide near-by, to watch, in the hope of getting a shot. The guide smilingly gave consent, with the understanding that they would return promptly when he called.

Armed with a lantern, the bait, and their guns, the boys followed their own snowshoe trail to the edge of the ice. They threw the meat a short distance out from shore, and it instantly sank from sight in the snow. They recovered it, and moved farther along. Next time the bait was placed carefully on a log. Then they concealed themselves and waited anxiously for some forest prowler to make its appearance.

The moonlight shining on the snow made the lake and surrounding wilderness weird and ghostly. Not a sound disturbed the stillness except the thumping of their own hearts. Somehow the forest seemed bigger and wilder, and they were glad to know that the cabin was not far away. There was little wind astir, but the still cold stung their noses and fingers and forced its way through their clothes and made them shiver. The lads crouched side by side, with their guns held in readiness and their eyes fixed intently on the log, where the bait showed distinctly against the snow.

Something was moving in the woods close beside them. A twig snapped loudly in the frosty air. The boys felt thrills of excitement.

“Suppose it’s a bear!” whispered George.

“We’ll both fire at once and then run for the cabin,” replied Ed.

Although they listened for some minutes, the alarming sounds were not repeated. A bit relieved, they began swinging their arms to warm themselves.

“I don’t believe anything will come around while we’re standing here,” declared Ed, a little later.

George was about to reply when they were startled by some unknown beast, which began growling fiercely within a few yards of their hiding-place.

Almost at the same instant a big black animal walked into the circle of moonlight! Both of them fired at it. A terrifying roar came in response to the shots, and the clumsy creature lumbered away in the direction of the cabin.

“Are you fellows all right?” called Ben.

“Yes, and we’ve shot a bear, I guess; he’s gone up that way, somewhere!” Ed shouted, excitedly.

“It’s a bear, all right enough,” Ben assured them.

Then another roar, louder and more terrifying than the first, echoed through the forest. The young hunters began to wish themselves up in the cabin with Ben.

“You stung him pretty hard, and he’s mad clear through,” warned the guide. “Stay where you are, and I’ll come down there. I don’t believe he’ll travel far. We’ll hunt him out with the light.”

The boys were relieved to know that Ben was coming to reinforce them. From what he and Bill had told them of bears, they believed they had a dangerous customer to deal with. However, neither of them was willing to act the part of coward, and they decided, if the wounded and enraged creature charged them, to hold their ground and fire another broadside.

For several minutes, which seemed hours to the boys, all was quiet. Then a low, ugly snarl sounded forth, and they heard Ben shoot.

“Look out, he’s headed your way!” cried the guide.

“There he goes! Fire!” yelled Ed, as an indistinct black form galloped awkwardly across the open space in front of them.

Their guns roared in unison; but they were several seconds too slow, and the bear, in full flight, went crashing away through the undergrowth.

Ben came running down, rifle in hand, and quickly lighted the lantern, which they had prudently extinguished when they took their stand. Calling to them to follow, he dashed off on the trail of the wounded bear.

“He’s hard hit; you must have been pretty close,” he declared, when they had gone some distance, and he stooped to examine the tracks. “See how he’s dragging one leg?” And he held the lantern so they could see the telltale mark on the snow.

In spite of its injuries, the animal was galloping along in a series of short jumps. Should he hold to his pace it would be impossible for the trailers to overtake him.

After they had tracked the bear some distance and noted that he was continuing the pace, Ben declared it useless to try to come up with him before morning. He said they would start at daylight and track the bear to its den.

“He’s a big one; and unless he’s dead by the time we come up with him, there’ll likely be some fun,” he promised.